


Ghosts and the Dead

by tigereyes45



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Family Bonding, No Romance, Sister-Sister Relationship, slight crossover with the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17317625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: Arya Stark is home, and training others to fight. To her right now was the moment she had been living for. Yet even at home or perhaps especially so ghosts and reminders find her chasing her down.This was another mini-gift I did for Ceruleanstark on tumble for the GOT secret Santa event.





	Ghosts and the Dead

Arya Stark had been home for days now, or had it been weeks? Even here in the safety of the Winterland of her birth time was still escaping her. She aided Sansa in managing the people of the north. Sansa handled food, rations, workloads, and general instructions of how to prepare for what is coming. Arya spoke with the soldiers and the guards. She personally trained anyone who walks through the gate without ever having held a weapon before. A fact the Master of arms was growing more and more tiresome with. They were all supposed to be his students after all. His and the General of the Vale’s army. What his name was, slips Arya’s mind, but the man seemed completely loyal to her cousin. Even if he wasn’t as on board with this stand, they were attempting to make.

Her favorite student was the only Lyanna Mormont. Named the same as the aunt Arya never got to meet. The one every adult who met Lyanna Stark saw inside Arya. If Lyanna Stark was a fighter then she couldn’t have had anything on Arya’s favorite student. She was quick to learn a lesson after her first slip of the hand. She met every strike of Arya’s with the same steel in her eyes that Arya knew others saw in her.

One day Lyanna Mormont actually managed to land a hit o Arya. Something even the powerful Brienne had yet to do. The youngest ruler was better at the brute fighting style of Westeros, but she understood that when you go up to someone more powerful you have to dance around and tire them out. Although she rarely dodged she always matches her partners blow for blow. Repeatedly blocking their attacks with her sword was the way she wore them down. Not moving her sword much she always managed to get it in place at the right moment and save her energy doing so.

Arya was proud of the young ruler. If she survives the in-coming war then her people would be led well in the age that comes after. Even Sansa had to admit she was impressed by the Mormont. After hearing that on the island everyone was always training in preparation in case the Greyjoys ever attacked again only made it clearer that she was a born warrior.

“Arya Stark, as I live and breathe,” Comes a call from under her. Arya peers down from the tree where she was now watching training sessions. Below was a man, tall, with long dark hair. His face was covered in scruff, and his hair was shaggy. For a moment Arya believes she is looking down at Jory again. But the man under the tree was too short to be Jory. Arya says nothing as her surprise subsides. She waits for him to say something more.

“My name is Ryon Forrester! Of house Forrester,” He explains cupping his hands around his mouth. From the way, he spoke he clearly wasn’t that old. Looking closer now, he wouldn’t even have been Rickon’s age. A year or two behind probably. Young to be growing any sort of hair. “I’ve come to join the fight!” He adds twisting around to show a sword hanging off his waist. It was barely staying in place from the simple movement. This boy was greener than some of the southerners who had made their way up here.

“You should go find the Master of Swords!” She calls back down, looking back towards the eastern sky. Thinking of her family in these moments before the next battle. It was one of the few times she could.

“I want you to train me. Everyone says you are the best here! Even the youngest Mormont sings your praise. I’m only a year younger than her. I can swing a sword too, please teach me?” He pleads.

Arya’s only thought was of the last time she saw Rickon’s shaggy hair. He was two years younger then Rickon. A boy like that so eager to fight, with the look of a true Northman. He wouldn’t survive this battle. She sends him away with the excuse that she had to give her lady sister extra lessons. Jumping down she easily lands on her feet. Telling the young noble to go find the Master of arms before she runs back to the castle. Passing a woman with dark hair, and scars decorating her face as Arya left the Godswood.

She stops for a moment to watch the woman. If she was with that boy, then perhaps he would survive. Deep down a feeling in her stomach tells her that he would only join the other ghosts that haunt this castle. Walking now, Arya dips her head. Putting all trust into her feet to know the way without her eyes. For the grey steel orbs were gone. Just like they had been with the faceless men. Only now clouds of memories cover them over instead of the cloudy grey and black nothingness that had then.

It was her sister who found her. Instead of running to their parents' old bedroom, Sansa had gone looking in the crypts. Finding her younger sister sitting still as a cat on Rickon’s crypt. Arya heard her sister but did not move to look at her. She expected to hear a lecture. One where Sansa would use up all her long words just to say how it is wrong to sit on the dead. A lot of good those lectures had done her littlest brother.

Rickon was told so many times to stay away from the crypts. Now he was resting within them. Right below her feet was his heart. Of that, she had no doubt. Sansa made only the occasional comment of their little brother. How little he was compared to the coffin father had prepared for a grown man. His crypt was the last one in the little line of theirs. It was his heart that rested directly under her feet.

Sansa did not lecture her sister. She also did not join her on the crypt. Having far too much respect for the dead to ever consider resting on them. Arya didn’t have that same sense of respect. She spent her first night back here resting the little bit she had on the cold feet of her father’s statue. Somehow she still fit. Despite all the growing she had done.

Sansa rested a soft hand against Arya’s head. Her slim fingers found their way through the brown hair their father had given her. Slowly as their mother once had, she moves her fingers back and forth across Arya’s skull. It gave her little comfort and more memories than seeing the boy who looked like Jory had.

“It’s okay to cry. I miss them too.” Sansa’s words were hollow. She was controlling herself. Keeping all of the information that should have been behind those words, locked up.

“I’m not crying. Just tired,” Arya huffs. Smacking her sister’s hand away lightly she finally looks up.

“Who knew assassins slept?” Sansa says jokingly. A smug smile on her face.

“Everyone sleeps. That is one of the best time to kill a man,” Arya smiles threateningly in return.

“Another is in the bed of men, I imagine,” Sansa’s smile was gone now. Squeezing her lips back into a tight line. She closes her blue eyes. Even in this darkness, you could see the blue of her eyes. I darkness no one could see Arya. Not her brown hair, her small form, or her grey eyes. She could vanish, but Sansa was born to hold everyone’s attention.

“I miss them too,” Sansa says, leaving their other conversation behind. Her sister looks sadly down at the crypt. “When this war is over. We'll get him a statue. Like father’s.”

“We may all be dead by the time this war is over.” Arya points out. The hole in her heart wouldn't let her even consider otherwise.

“Not all of us.” Sansa reaffirms, for once smiling like she use to with Jeyne as kids. The same smile she reserved for when she earned praise or was proud of her company. Arya missed that smile.

“You'll have to commissioned the statue. I didn't get to see him before he died.”

“Jon and I will make sure it looks like him. Better then father's.” Lady Stark promises.

“Thank you,”

“Will you join me for dinner?”

Arya looks back down the dark tunnel. The only flame from the candles at the entrance. She could go back up, but something still asked her to stay. A deep feeling asking her to stay there with them. She may never see these crypts again.

“I'll be up in a little bit.” Arya promises.

Down in the tunnels underground she felt them. The ones who will never leave home again. Rickon now with them.


End file.
